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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29098920">from the museum of bad decisions, permanent collection</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/'>Anonymous</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>SEVENTEEN (Band)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Fluff, M/M, Meet-Cute, a big dumb dog, reupload</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 13:14:30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,242</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29098920</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Wonwoo tries to save his grades.</p>
</blockquote>Or, Kim Mingyu, neighbourhood saint, local dog lover, destroyer of lives.
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jeon Wonwoo/Kim Mingyu</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>83</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Anonymous</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>from the museum of bad decisions, permanent collection</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>if you recognise this, hi again :)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Wonwoo doesn’t believe in the three-act structure. </p><p>After the debacle that was semester two, second year and the big, loud <em>Credit</em> on his transcript after a bad stint at organic chemistry, Wonwoo was trying to get his shit together. By that, he means what any student does in times of dire need: that one summer art subject that panders to those on the lower end of the GPA spectrum. The last-legged stint. </p><p>Shamefully, it’s not the first time he’s taken a nosedive down the deep end. Soonyoung says he’s got a penchant for looking misleading: who else dresses like <em>that,</em> but cannot for the life of them crack open a textbook until the night before? </p><p>But Soonyoung’s wrong, as he should be, because Wonwoo thinks he fits his archetype snugly. He’s only been outside for ten minutes and he’s already beginning to burn. </p><p>Crouching over some wildflowers, he translates their three-dimensionality with toddler-like finesse. It gives him time for introspection.</p><p>Wonwoo doesn’t hate the world. He doesn’t necessarily hate the sun nor the park nor the people, per se. They just seem to hate him back. They’re particularly vengeful when in combination.</p><p>“This is shit.”</p><p>What he’s referring to is inclusive of all the following: the pollen, his sinuses, the perpetually existent ball of flaming gas in the sky, the hole in the ozone, and his complete and utter lack of drawing skills.</p><p>The world’s crudest rendition of a flower leers at him. </p><p><em>Is this it?</em> It seems to say. </p><p>Within a week’s time he has to hand in his portfolio, and whilst his grade is dependent on his progress, he highly doubts he’ll master the skill of a smooth fucking line in that time span. </p><p>He might be the first to achieve a failing grade at <em>growth. </em></p><p>Under a domineering brightness, with his face both peeling like a dried tomato and slicked with sweat, it’s easier to feel his metaphorical knees buckle at the weight of his own inadequacy. </p><p>He sits back onto the grass, accepts defeat, and is glad he’d only spent seven whole dollars on clearance-sale coloured pencils for this. Not even student grade. Toddler-grade. With the non-toxic and washable pigments. He wonders if he should call it quits for the day.</p><p>It has to be that, his reprehensible lack of responsibility, that incurs the slighting hand of punishment on him in the next moment. </p><p>“Noodle—!”</p><p>Something pummels him into the dirt. Something big, frantic, vaguely smelly and Wonwoo, lungs squeezed with shock, yelps as he blindly tries to push it off. </p><p>“What the fuck—“ </p><p>Big, frantic, vaguely smelly is also slimy — did he just get <em>licked?</em> — and that, between minor cardiac arrest and his monkey brain howling, clicks together the pieces of dog. </p><p>Oh, fuck. </p><p>His heels dig into the dirt and just as he’s about to push himself away, maybe black out, the wheezing, slobbering mange is pulled off of him. </p><p>“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, oh my god, I’m sorry.”</p><p>Wonwoo blinks.</p><p>Air. In his lungs. In and out. It’s called breathing. </p><p>Blue sky, big clouds, that flaming ball of gas, spinning for a moment as he readjusts to just make out against the glaring light, a godforsaken freak of nature and his insane, drooling dogs. Plural. </p><p>Wonwoo scrambles to sit up.</p><p>“I’m so, so sorry.” The dog owner repeats, reeling in big white pitbull, “I’m so sorry.”</p><p>This must be the other part of his trifecta of punishments: the mortal rebirth of adonis, right here in this park to witness Wonwoo, the anti-christ of first impressions, with grass in his hair and drool on his chin.  </p><p>Broad-shouldered, bronze-skinned, hair parted in that pretentiously dishevelled way and framing a pretentiously unreal face. On a regular human, gym shorts are just shabby. Wonwoo must have hit his head.</p><p>It’ll take a few seconds but once the concussion’s down, Wonwoo will be fine. This guy’s probably butt ugly. </p><p>Yeah. A few more seconds. </p><p>The pitbull finally calms, just vibrating now, and the guy laxes his tight grip on its leash. His horizon-broad, muscle-toned shoulders slump with relief.</p><p>“You okay?” The stranger’s got a bit of a lisp. His front tooth is a little crooked. </p><p>Wonwoo nods. </p><p>Okay. So he’s not an alien ready to burst from his bio-printed skin to abduct Wonwoo for the mothership, that’s nice. </p><p>He wobbles up to his feet, wiping at his jeans and praying for no grass stains on his butt. All the plant life must be giving him a rash with the way his skin was starting to prickle and burn. </p><p>Dog owner smiles. His small array of dogs, the less attack-prone ones circle around his legs, all of them panting brainlessly up at Wonwoo, the braver ones attempting to nose their way into his space. It’s basically a small, furry army, all their leashes connecting to this guy as if he was some sort of canine mayflower pole. A sausage-looking one waddles near Wonwoo’s shoes to give them a good sniff and lick. </p><p>“Noodle here,” Dog owner must be referring to the white pitbull bouncing with a disregard of gravity, straining on his leash but thankfully no longer interested in bulldozing Wonwoo like a decrepit building, “he’s just super friendly. Loves people. A lot.”</p><p>Wonwoo’s laugh sounds like he’d just got stuffed into a meat grinder. One of the bigger dogs tries to stick its snout into his hands. He takes a step back.</p><p>“You didn’t get hurt, did you?”</p><p>Wonwoo shakes his head.</p><p>Almost ruefully, the guy quirks up a smile at him. “Well, that’s good. Still, sorry about that. Noodle’s real slippery, but he has good taste.”</p><p>Huh?</p><p>“Huh?”</p><p>The guy backpedals, hands coming up with a frenetic wave, “I meant he always picks good people to play with him and stuff,” he laughs. At the blank stare Wonwoo’s only capable of giving him, he laughs again but this time it’s a funny sort, all high-pitched, squawky and honestly kinda ugly. He bites down on his bottom lip. </p><p>“Anyway, I’ll uh, I’ll let you get on with your day,” he takes a step backwards, tugging at his leashes as he gives Wonwoo a shy smile, “nice meeting you…”</p><p>Wonwoo squints. The single, grey grape that consists his brain begins to prune. <em>There’s something fishy here,</em> a voice suspiciously sounding like Junhui muses. </p><p>As if sensing their near departure, Noodle is pulling against Dog Owner’s leash again, giant pink tongue lolling out. So Ahab had his big, white whale. Wonwoo guesses this was his own legacy.</p><p>Oh, right.</p><p>“Call me Wonwoo,” he clears his throat, his insides crippling into shrivelled, molten metal, “because that’s my name.”</p><p>Just lay him on the parched earth here. He doesn’t care anymore. </p><p>“Right,” the stranger beams at him, far too friendly and too forgiving for his sake, “nice meeting you, Wonwoo.”</p><p>—</p><p>Wonwoo likes to think of himself as the logical sort. His mind, a palace of intellect and introspection, fine tuned by browsing JSTOR throughout the night, rewatching the same anime down to its bones, and wading through admittedly trashy but intriguing fanfiction lore. Most nights he can convince himself he’s not a washed up hack of a high school all-star, but it’s not like there’s much to dwell over, anyway. </p><p>A small cog in the big fish pond. There’s a joke about Atlantis somewhere here. </p><p>Though, as Jeonghan would point out in this moment, if he really was such a brainy Mcfarty pants — literate, he was — he would know not to repeat the same mistake twice. </p><p>To which Wonwoo would say, checkmate. </p><p>“Okay, okay—” he wheezes, hands this time covering his face as a familiar mass of white fur was clearing his pores with slobber, “Noodle? Right? Yeah, okay, I get it—”</p><p>After a beat too long of anticipation, he’s finally liberated a moment later by a familiar apology. </p><p>“Jesus, I am so—” Dog Owner jerks when Noodle tries to leap from his hold, “Down, Noodle! Sit! <em>Come on,</em> dude.”</p><p>A little dizzy but definitely still alive, Wonwoo pushes himself upright. There’s the dizziness of heat exhaustion and being bowled over, but those don’t account for the thrill of seeing tanned thighs two feet from his face. </p><p>“Let me guess, you’re really, really sorry?” He smirks, though the effect is ruined by just how winded he sounds. </p><p>Dog Owner smiles weakly back at him. He’s got that charming, boyish colour of embarrassment to him, Wonwoo’s pained to realise. All that pink-eared glory, a bashful tongue. God, just slap him on a poster already, he gets it, cruel world. </p><p>He cards his hand through his hair and feels all the dry pieces of grass litter down. </p><p>There exists an evil counterpart for every hero. Wonwoo understands his role now. The ugly, less competent, dog-disliking ne'er-do-well he, finally meeting his foil. </p><p>“Oh,” he says when he stops ogling like a creep, “your dogs are different today.”</p><p>Dog Owner blinks. Then looks down at his chocolate-box collection of canines. A wonky, old greyhound in a blue collar, some three-legged, russet-coloured mix, and a big, walking haystack on legs to name a few.</p><p>“Yes. Yes they are.”</p><p>“Are you a dog walker or an animal hoarder?”</p><p>This, for some reason, makes Dog-Owner-maybe-Hoarder laugh. </p><p>“I volunteer at a local pet shelter.”</p><p>Damn it, he’s an actual saint, too. What did he do in a previous life? Better yet, he was probably going to be reincarnated into a genius, billionaire, playboy philanthropist with wings. </p><p>“Cool. Cool, that’s cool,” Wonwoo nods, totally not envisioning that, “Hi, again, by the way.”</p><p>He thinks if his hands weren’t preoccupied with so many dogs, the guy just might be offering his hand. Wonwoo gets up by himself. </p><p>He’s not a celebrity, for crying out loud. </p><p>“Wonwoo, right?” The guy’s taller than him. A solid two inches taller. Not even Junhui’s that freakishly big, “Noodle seems to really like you. He just went flying off like a jet.”</p><p>Wonwoo tries to laugh. It’s stilted and awful like a parrot choking on a peanut, and he suddenly feels so bad for being so <em>awkward</em> towards dogs. Okay, it’s not like an outright hatred. They were just... <em>a lot.</em> Loud, fidgety, smelly, hyperactive, tail-waggy and drool-y all at the same time like sensory overload with fur and Wonwoo has no idea how they compute. </p><p>“Y-yeah,” he says, “Maybe I smell like something he likes.”</p><p>Dog Owner snorts, amused instead of mildly concerned for some reason. </p><p>“Maybe, y’know? Though I’ve never seen him freak out so much about one person. Even myself.”</p><p>Oh, that should be flattering, right?</p><p>“Yeah, it sure is.”</p><p>Oh, he totally did that stupid thing of saying something out loud, didn’t he?</p><p>Dog Owner’s laughing again. It’s a bright, rich sound and if Wonwoo was adept at figuratives, he’d say it tasted like caramel. </p><p>— </p><p>This time, when Wonwoo goes scouring the internet for reference photos, he spends two hours scribbling big, white pitbulls. </p><p>— </p><p>Today, Wonwoo arms himself with nothing less than six pumps of sunscreen, a litre bottle of water, a twenty-four colour boxset of pencils and his dignity. Only one of these is waterproof, and it’s definitely not his 120gsm spiral-bound mix-media sketchbook. </p><p>“Hi Noodle.”</p><p>Noodle woofs at him. His tail, going rotor motor wild, kicks up unending fans of pond water. </p><p>Dog Owner, standing on the bank, looks like he’s about to tear his hair out. </p><p>When Noodle trots over to lick him in the face, Wonwoo can’t even complain about the slobber getting him wet. </p><p> </p><p>“I’m sorry,” is Dog Owner’s mantra as he helps Wonwoo wade his supplies out of the water, “I’m so sorry I think I’m about to cry out of sheer humiliation.”</p><p>Wonwoo doesn’t even know what to do at this point. </p><p>Whilst he doesn’t believe his life is a guaranteed fun, entertaining story for the ages, he thinks he’s found himself in a pretty good position, waiting for a pay off. A turning point. Maybe this was the inciting incident. </p><p>Maybe it was just a dumb dog and sheer, dumb luck. </p><p>As he scoops up the twenty-second of his twenty-four coloured pencils, he answers as honestly, as truthfully as he can. With a laugh.</p><p>That’s what it is. It’s just funny dumb stupid. </p><p>Not the melodramedy sort, not the romcom kind. Something sweeter, something so much more free. the joy ballooning in his chest is weightless and bright, he thinks if he looks up he’ll start seeing the stars. </p><p>It’s not the wet paper pulp and spilt colouring pencils, and it’s not the mortification — because honestly, he’s done worse. </p><p>Instead, it’s this:</p><p>Noodle, the four-legged buffoon, trying to chase the park ducks into the air. The hot sun on his skin. The sunburn on his nose. This same guy, who keeps bringing the same dog with him every damn time Wonwoo’s here, who’s got his pants rolled up as they both stand knee deep in dirty water like the village idiots, salvaging Wonwoo’s summer credit. </p><p>“You know,” he hiccups between breaths, “I don’t think I ever got your name.”</p><p>Dog Owner’s eyes widen. It makes Wonwoo smile harder.</p><p>“Mingyu,” the stranger says, grinning back. His teeth are like the sun, “my name’s Mingyu.”</p><p>Wonwoo’s hands are pruny and they smell like reeds, but Mingyu’s are probably the same, so he offers it.</p><p>“You have a lovely dog,” Mingyu’s hands are as warm as they look, “very sweet.”</p><p>Mingyu shrugs, “What can I say? He has good taste.”</p><p> </p><p> </p>
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